


Obscured by Clouds

by LetoDune



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Astronomy, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Inspired by Music, Love at First Sight, M/M, Physics, Songs, pink floyd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetoDune/pseuds/LetoDune
Summary: A story of Crowley's love for: Aziraphale, physics, astronomy, music from the 1960s to the present day. All work is inspired by Pink Floyd's songs.





	1. Brain Damage / Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work ever. Also the first work in English. It is not my native language, so certainly there are a lot of mistakes in it, I am aware of that. The idea behind all this work is to make it possible to read and listen at the same time. Both the title of the whole work and individual chapters are taken from the work of Pink Floyd. For each chapter I attach a link to the song that inspired me to write it.  
All comments and criticism are welcome. I treat this text as an exercise, so I will be grateful for any advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVQ3-Xe_suY

_And with these words I can see _

_Clear through the clouds that covered me _

_Just give it time then speak my name _

_Now we can hear ourselves again. _

_Pink Floyd - Wearning the Inside Out (from album Division Bell) _

_Hong Kong, 2019. _

Crowley loved Hong Kong. A small world closed on only a thousand square kilometers. A thousand and a hundred and four, to be precise. He often came here, mainly from the late sixties of the last century. Rain, street bustle, tiny, crowded pubs, neon lights, which is supposed to disappear by some ridiculous human order. The city was alive. It would seem that he is breathing in his own, unknown rhythm. He often strolled along narrow alleys, looking at running businessmen, models and ordinary people, eating pasta chopsticks and looking into the distance with an incomprehensible gaze. The separation from London and a different culture calmed him down. Demon had his favorite place here, completely different from his modern apartment in the capital of Great Britain. A tiny flat on the very top of one of the residential skyscrapers with only a bed, a turntable, a collection of records and a large window. From there you can admire the stunning panorama of the whole city. What more does need an unearthly being that is not defiled by all the needs of the human body? It is not a view of the International Commerce Centre or Central Plaza (yes, Corwley was there too, it wasn't difficult for a demon, was it?), but in this case it wasn't about luxury, but a place where you can be alone with your thoughts.

Corwley bought them for a substantial sum (certainly for a too large sum of the money), but he did not regret it. Whenever he needed to think, think about something (especially about a blond angel and his sometimes hard to bear, naivety and goodness), he came here. And so, after Armageddon-do-what didn't happen and all the situations that happened before the memorable Saturday of the End of the World, Crowley had to cut himself off from all this mess for a moment. This time, however, the demon had no idea why he really came here, because his mind was still in chaos. He didn't know what he was really thinking about. The source of his worries was still the same creature whose presence had been disrupting his demonic thoughts for. . . six thousand years. Nothing new. He has realized for a long time that what he feels for his friend goes beyond a mere friendship. Demons can't love, that's what everyone knows.

_Goddamn it! _

Well, almost all of them. They lost ability to love during the Fall, but despite everything now Crowley subconsciously knew he loved. Everything matched the definition, so it couldn't have been anything else. She certainly allowed such a gap in her ineffable plan.

_Love. A simple word, but not for you. Demons don't know that idea. I mean, they know basic definitione of love, but they are not fully aware of this feeling. Oh, yeah? Then I would like to inform the entire universe that something in this miraculous assumption is absolutely wrong. The exception confirms the rule. In physics, the exception is not a confirmation of the rule. It is only a tiny part of a larger whole. Therefore, a law that appears to be permanent can always be overturned, because it is not viewed from the point of view of the whole, the wider spectrum. That's what Richard said in his lectures at Caltech. In 1962, it was worth tempting one of the students at that time, only to find this extraordinary man there. Shit, he was a really talented guy. You could feel his enthusiasm (love?) for this extremely difficult field for people. It's a good thing I shouldn't have read the books. I remembered every word he said in his lectures during those two years. _

_Does it have to be so hard? That's another part of the punishment for asking too many questions? The poet said: „The whole universe fits into a glass of wine.” We will probably never know exactly what he meant, because poets don't write to be understood. Richard, you said that once, but damn it, you didn't mean to fall in love by speaking those words. Love wasn't so difficult for you, you just carried it within you like any other divine creature. You were a human being, so you were granted the right to do so. I'm jealous about this ability. I feel like a creature who ponders the poet's words. That's a pretty good analogy. Paraphrasing, love was created, but not for me to experience it. Oh, yeah! Another law did not work, being apparently part of a larger puzzle. _

_And if the dam breaks open many years too soon _

_And if there is no room upon the hill _

_And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too _

_I'll see you on the dark side of the moon. _

_I was creating stars, damn it! My hands built nebulas, I poured so much beauty into them and I still have to atone for curiosity? I just wanted to understand! I didn't mean to fall! Everyone always pays the price for knowledge without exception. In one form or another, consciousness hurts. I never understood why she drove people out of Eden. Aziraphale took it on faith. Believing in an ineffable plan. Oh, Angel. Why did I come up to you then? _

_You crept up to him, Crawly. _

_Shut up. _

_That wasn't my name. Neither did Crowley. I'll never say my real name again. To the end of the universe, this and all the rest of it. Love is a strange thing, crushing my chest in incalculable pain, which I have not been able to get rid of in any way for almost six thousand years. _

Crowley stood in front of the entrance to the building and looked up at the sky with a remorse. The stars were flickering shyly trying to break through the city lights. They've always been as beautiful as they were at the time of Creation. The demon remembered their birth from dust clouds, which were formed from particles bound together by strong interactions. He remembered this point in space, when time did not exist, when everything created perfect symmetry, according to Her plan, when the whole universe was just one tiny disturbance in space, a fluctuation. At that time everything was simple, unimaginable, but in fact not very complicated. Deep down himself, he thanked Her that he was allowed to keep those memories. He often returned to them, attracted by a mysterious force, like an invisible electromagnetic field.

_I know you can hear me. You know everything. Did you know that we could prevent it, that I would love him for all these millennia? You must have known. So, what do we do now? What do you want me to do? Am I to experience eternity, suffering the same pain over and over again? Why would I do that? Do the others downstairs in this bunch of madmen have as much trouble as I do? Or is it a special award for me? They say I've already got an important part in Eden. „Go ahead, make some trouble.” And on the Antichrist case, too. „You're gonna be the tool that's gonna make this all happen.” I must have a special place in this whole brothel if someone always wants something from me. Have you ever wondered what the fuck I want_?

The answer wasn't given, but he didn't expect it. In the distance only a deaf, muffled thunder sounded. Crowley unintentionally looked to the east, although he could not see the stormy clouds, because the horizon was covered by the tones of metal, glass and plastic of monumental skyscrapers. A heavy, specific smell in the air hit his nose. This well-known silence before the forces of nature begin to play in the sky. Waiting. A moment of breathing, heavy, stuffy roaring of air straight into the tireless lungs.

_Wind from the east. The storm. At least I'll get drunk in the right conditions. When I was standing on the eastern part of the Eden wall, there was also a storm coming in. The first one here on Earth. The rain drops hit me in the face. Feels bad. Then he spread his snow-white wing over me. Just like that. He admitted that he had given his burning sword to those fragile beings who were to change the face of this world once and for all. Aziraphale, from the beginning you were yourself, you believed in goodness. I remember the first time I looked into your eyes. Blue as the Earth's sky. I've always associated them with this specific colour. And that heat, beating from you. I knew I missed it, I just didn't realize I missed it so much. I could be standing on the surface of the Sun or Antares, but inside me there would still be an unbearable cold. And this painful feeling, which I was unable to name at that time. _

He walked into a staircase and almost ran into a couple coming out of the building. Crowley's been looking at them for a while. Young people were holding hands, laughing, not caring about tomorrow, the world and space. For them, there was only this moment. The warmth of their hands, the stability (or maybe just the changeability?) of their feelings. The demon felt it and could immediately make this idyll disappear in one microsecond, but he didn't want it. He only looked with sadness at the door where the pair in love disappeared, eyes covered with stylish sunglasses. The corridor was illuminated by unbearable fluorescent tubes, which gave the unpleasant impression of communing with the tunnels of Hell. Crowley snapped his fingers. Darkness. That's better.

_The real darkness has nothing to do with Hell. It is beautiful, clean and impeccable, just like lightness. Look into the black hole and you will see it before it tears you into the basic particles. You'll be delighted, I'm telling you. Such a death is better than the finesse of torture you've been practicing here on Earth. _

He pressed the button in the elevator and waited, still feeling a terrible loneliness, which in the last few weeks became unbearable. It was overwhelming, similar to a destructive force, sweeping away everything on its way. It made the world lacked of colors, and the soul lacked of feelings. Do I still have a soul? Where will I go if they decide to destroy me? Will they let me see the dark side of the moon again? Will they let me keep my love for him? The demon was still wondering if both Aziraphale and he were safe. He knew that their charade had given them some time before their bosses would claim them again. Until then, Crowley intended to live as before, but the subconscious kept telling him that he was just fooling himself. Nothing will ever be the same again.

_For heaven’s (ugh!) sake! Damn it! _

The elevator ascended mercilessly for a long time, but Crowley didn't even notice it, immersed in his thoughts. Finally, a sound was heard to signal the floor to be reached. The demon immediately left the cramped room and went to the door of his flat.

_A good whiskey. 25-year-old Balvenie Triple, for example. I hope there are still some bottles left. The big advantage of this body is the fact that it can be brought to the unconscious in an interesting way. Are you sure you'll forget it? Just for a moment! But at least for this tiny fraction of the time I won't think about loving him. It kills like a sophisticated poison. Slowly, step by step. Is he aware of that? Has he ever read about it in a pile of his books? Surely foolish, but don't forget that no book describes a demon's love for an angel. For Satan's sake, why now? You know very well why. You've already lost him once, remember? Fuck, of course I remember. This emptiness was more terrible than a quantum vacuum. At least there are new particles constantly being created there, there is creation, and I knew, at that moment, that I would feel nothing but loss and regret. _

_All that you touch _

_And all that you see _

_All you create _

_And all you destroy _

_I have touched, seen, created and destroyed so many things. Tangible and ethereal. Here, on Earth, and there in the depths of space. I watched the plasma explosions on the surface of the stars so powerful that they could destroy entire worlds. I let myself feel it, the power that resembled the power of all the creators of this universe. My former brothers. The voices inside me, the voices outside me. We were united. She was directing us, our hands, which really had nothing to do with human’s hands at that time. We all existed as a powerful consciousness with the gift of creation. The body came much later, also as a gift. In the image and likeness of God. I don't even know who was given the task of creating these fragile creatures who inhabited Eden centuries ago. Did she create them herself, or did someone else inspire by her to do it? _

_And all that is now _

_And all that is gone _

_And all that’s to come _

_Time is such a human invention. The universe doesn't need time. It doesn’t fucking care of it. Angels and demons, too. Then why the hell do I still feel the weight of those lost moments? Everything that's gone. All these millennia spent on this tiny blue dot, suspended in an infinite universe with a being who does not even realize my true nature. I'm a freak, I've always been a freak. In my essence, a seed of doubt has been sown, through the prism of which I look at it all. I never belonged to either side. I watched the whole show, being somewhere, on some point far away from all of it. _

In his mind suddenly appeared the voice of Beelzebub, speaking:_ He's gone native. He's not one of us anymore._ Azirafal told him everything that had happened in hell while they were swapping their bodies.

_I've never been one of you. I had an imagination, She never took it away from me. I have love in me. Fucked up, not having the right to happen, but my own love. I think She's the only one who knows. You'll be deprived of even this for the rest of the time. It hurts, but it's better to feel pain than hate and anger for the rest of your life. _

_And everything under the sun _

_Is in tune _

_But the sun is eclipsed _

_By the moon. _

_Beautiful words. People are really weird creatures. Full of paradoxes. They create things so unique, next to such vile, hideous vices. Harmony obscured by eclipse, fear, stupidity, ignorance. Mother, did you know in your infinite wisdom that all this would fuck up so wonderfully? The whole world? You never showed anyone how you wanted to end it. You're gonna bring all the hyperspace into one point, like on the beginning? Or will you let gravity die in a fucking slow death, taking everything with itself? _

Crowley never stopped asking questions. He always wanted to fully understand the reality, which he is surronded by. His curiosity circulated dangerously close to pride. He paid almost the highest price for his character, but he was always himself. He suspected that this and his affection for Aziraphale was somehow a manifest of Her divine love for every creature in this universe.

_More gaps in the plan, Mother. Lots of holes. You had created the whole structure of this universe in this way: a space dotted with spaces devoid of any objects. The whole cosmos is like a foam or a nervous system, choose your best description. It was intentional, wasn't it? You love your creatures so much that you had shaped them like tiny microuniverses. Billions of galaxies, groups of them, supergroups, worlds, and right behind all of this: silence. Absolute silence. _

_His eyes are mesmeriznig. Pupils, irises. I looked at them very carefully, I only needed a moment. The colour of the earthly sky, as I have already mentioned, but if you look really carefully, they show different colours hidden inside. They remind me of one of the nebulas that I used to create and which I still love so much. The probability that someone has the same pupils is 10 to minus 24. According to all the data it is impossible. He's perfect. For me. You created him like this deliberately? _

_There is no dark side of the moon really. _

_No matter of fact is all dark. _

Crowley repeated exactly the last words from one of his favorite songs, which he knew as well as hundreds of others. He loved music as much as he loved space, plants and alcohol. According to his modest opinion Pink Floyd, next to Queen it is really a masterpiece of human imagination in music. Of course, someone could tell him that they don't even have an approach to classical music, but these bands moved all the feelings hidden deeply in Crowley. Like the subtle touch of a hand on a string. A gentle jerk, disruption of the air and a wave cut through the space, hitting it directly into his body. It moved, it spread in his human form, getting together with oxygen molecules to the lungs, then to the blood (this so much human blood), and after a while to shake the entire nervous system in a spasm of total admiration. The demon loved this feeling, as well as the loss of consciousness when he and Aziraphale drank themselves to unconsciousness. Coming back to the music, Freddie always accompanied him in his beloved Bentley, and Roger and David in the moments of solitude when he thought about all that mess. When he turned the key in the hole, he thought about everything he had already experienced. Six thousand years of human history, its development, ups and downs. The changes, also slowly occurring in him, although he never lets it be known. Behind the mask of cynicism and relaxation was all his complicated, contradictory personality. The weight of memories attacked his mind like a supernova explosion of the delicate tissue of space. Crowley laughed madly in his own mind, again intertwining his thoughts with a well-known song.

_The lunatic is in my head. _

_The lunatic is in my head _

_You raise the blade, you make the change _

_You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane. _

_You lock the door _

_And throw away the key _

_There's someone in my head but it's not me. _

When the demon entered the flat, he immediately stood tensed like a string. There was a figure in a purest white shirt on the bed. The creamy coat, cut straight from the nineteenth century, was lying next to it. Blonde hair, which seemed to be woven from some exceptionally soft substance, reflected the light from outside the window, giving the angel an ethereal look. You could feel the warmth everywhere, filling the whole microscopic room with its energy.

\- I'd swear I could feel the air molecules vibrate faster and faster near to you. It’s… unnaturally. - he finally managed to whisper, with a stupid expression on his face.

_What the fuck are you talking about, Crowley? _

_You haven't had a single drink yet. _

_How did he find me here? _

Suddenly, he could hear a familiar voice directly in his head.

_Angels are specialists in miracles, remember? _

Aziraphale did not turn his head, but Crowley could easily see his smile reflected in the window, mixed with the glow outside. This is the first time his friend has spoken directly in his mind. The demon felt like hairs on his human body literally stand at attention. Each cell of his borrowed body reacted to this unexpected, yet wonderful, new experience. The angel's voice braided its interior like a dark velvet. His not-only-blue eyes were as amazing as ever. They were sparkling in the darkness, looking with the same confidence, but at the same time with reserve through the glass, directly at the demon. Crowley's heart reacted immediately, pulsating dangerously fast in his chest like a wild, frightened creature.

\- You loved physics as much as I loved books. It's beautiful, really. - Aziraphale finally looked straight at his friend. - Crowley, my dear, at last. I've been waiting a long time for you. I hope I'm not disturbing you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poet said: „The whole universe fits into a glass of wine.” We will probably never know exactly what he meant, because poets don't write to be understood. - the whole quote is belong to physicist Richard Feynman.


	2. Interstellar Overdrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song accompanying this chapter comes from the Pink Floyd concert in Rotterdam in 1967. This version of Interstellar Overdirve is my favourite and has become the main inspiration for this part of the story:  
https://www. youtube. com/watch?v=V6ATWx_9IP0 
> 
> If anyone would like to listen to the whole concert Crowley was at in this part of the story, I also give you a link to yt:  
https://www. youtube. com/watch?v=07Mrm_p47pc

_Rotterdam, 1967. _

_You go too fast for me, Crowley. _

_What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He comes out of nowhere, brings me a full thermos of holy water (it burned lightly even through this wonderful human thing), and then he went away. Just like that! He had been arguing with me since the meeting in 1862 in St. James Park, saying: no, absolutely, out of question! It'll kill you, and I won't watch you destroy yourself completely. Relax Angel, I told you, it's just in case. I wouldn't leave you alone just for a stupid whim, I would never leave you, unless my friends from downstairs got me first and decided to punish me for. . . for everything. (I never told you that.) I need insurance, just in case. _

_Maybe someday we'll go for a picnic, or dine at the Ritz. _

_Why not now? I didn't do anything wrong. No, go back. I did, but not to you. I wouldn't be able to hurt you. You must know that, damn it! You had to be blind after 1941, if you wouldn't notice it. Goddamn it! Why do you always have to be so. . . fundamental? After six thousand years, I'm sure you realize what's happening to me. That you happened to me. _

_Fuck, fuck, shit! _

_This is all fucked up. _

After an unexpected meeting with Azirafal in London's Soho, Crowley had to calm himself. He went back to his luxury apartment in Mayfair. The apartament was huge. Black, high walls, which was made of first-class dark marble and dark decor alla cross the flat. The demon was proud of what he was able to collect here. He had so many unique gems of human art and culture that a potential thief could have dragged cocaine on the Bahamas for the rest of his life for that. He surely would get high to death before he could spend a tenth from that sum of money.

_That would be a waste of resources. Almost as bad as all the goddamn counter-reformation in the 16th century. I wonder which idiot invented it. Hastur? That's his style, but would he have such imagination? I sincerely doubt it. People are much more creative than him. Light years from him. Imagination is a foreign concept for those idiots down there. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. _

Crowley wasn't gonna be in London any minute longer. Hiding a gift from an angel in a safe behind an original sketch of Mona Lisa, which he stole from Leonard's studio long time ago, he fell out of his apartment, got into the Bentley and went to the south.

_I'm fucking out of here. Satan knows where. South. Europe. I can't look at those streets which just remind me how fucked I am._

November is a lousy month. For men and angels. Demons really love this kind of a climate. Grim, heavy lead clouds covered the sky as Crowley drove his car through the vast plains of England. The rain drummed against Bentley's glass, smudging the image behind it constantly. The whole landscape was sinking in gray, the rain made it hard to tell where the earth ends and the sky begins.

_Wonderful, fucking beautiful. That's it. This road could go on forever. _

Unfortunately, in this world, every road always has its end. After two-hour of driving, demon reached Dover. While waiting for the ferry to cross the English Channel to Calais in France, Crowley looked at the gray waves, fiercely hitting the shore. The sea was as restless today as demon himself. It literally penetrated the horizon. The boundary between the clouds and the surface of water seemed blurred, almost unreal. The rain kept sticking tirelessly into the windshields of the car. The demon leaned his hands on the steering wheel and looked through the glass, lost in thoughts. Water has always been very patient. Slowly, methodically, it created her own paths. He admired her power. Silent strength. Long before Eden, when the Earth was covered by one great ocean, he liked to watch the monumental waves formed and disappearing in the abysses of the lurch. At that time he had his real name, his eyes had a different colour, they resembled the green of sea water in the light of the sun.

_When you look into the abbys, the abyss is also looking at you. _

_Nietzsche was right. I remember that sea. June 6th, 1944. Three years after I saved Azirafal. D-Day, that’s how people used to say on this entire slaughter, which took place on beaches of Normandy several hundred kilometres away. It was hard even for me to looked at it. The Second World War was a manifestation of a terrible, human genius of arrogance. People sometimes have worse ideas than those morons downstairs. Fuck, such an accumulation of crimes: imaginative, sophisticated crimes which have never took place in none of the previous centuries in the history of this fucked-up world. Even I don't have that much imagination, although I wrote it in the report as my work. Beelzebub was thrilled, damn it. The whole Hell was flooded (ironic…) with the souls of fallen people. Every now and then the Dagon was rolling with papers, and the rest of those idiots knelt and giggled under the fluorescent tubes. Meanwhile on the Eatrh, water was literally flowing down with the blood thousands of soldiers. It was red, full of plasma, fear, pain and death. Will it ever regain its color from millions of years ago? I remember those screams, then for the first time I regretted that I wrote this pogrom into my fucking record. I saw a young man whose stomach was torn apart by a bomb or a grenade. By some inconceivable act of fate, he was still alive. He screamed that he wanted to go back to his mother. He's still in my head today, and I couldn't even help him. I'd have been destroyed for that, and I've been stripped of my healing power. It's good that those hellish morons don't know my thoughts and don't care what I do here on earth generally. I mean, they're interested in it, but only when they check the correctness of the papers in my files. Chaos is beautiful, but not that one created by the people. That day was worse later. Worse even than tonight's fucking night. Then, on this beach of death surronded by the sea of blood, we met again. _

Crowley shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. He finally made it to the ferry. Crossing the sea allowed him to relax for a while. The events of the present day and the journey have exhausted him. Crowley closed his eyes. He didn't even know exactly when he fell asleep in a Bentley with his head leaning against the glass, trying to separate form his mind the image of Azirafal and his face. He was right next to him, less than fifty centimeters only a few hours ago, when he appeared out of nowhere in the passenger seat. Crowley dreamt of Normandy, his friend and their accidental meeting in June in 1944.

***

The whole massacre is over. There were dead bodies everywhere. Crowley walked between them, smelling the death in the air. There was silence, perfectly silence, except the sound of the sea waves hitting the shore. The earth, water and everything around were bathed in blood. The demon was disgusted by the sight of the beach, which stretched far ahead. Suddenly, his feet pressed on something slippery and he fell down in the bowels of a soldier scattered on the sand. He immediately got up and looked down. He almost threw up.

_Fuck! For Satan’s sake! Damn it! That's enough! I have to get out of here before I do something I will have to explain myself to somebody. _

He didn't even wipe his face, now covered in sand and blood. He wanted to move back to London in a minute, but his attention was drawn to a lonely figure sitting on the seashore. Definitely alive. A crouched man hid his face in his hands. His body was vibrating with tearful sobs that were drowned out by the sound of the waves. Crowley decided to come closer, he didn't know why, he couldn't help him, he was a demon, not an angel. After a few steps, he stood up shocked.

-Azraphale? - he whispered with disbelief.

_What's a heavenly emissary doing at the center of a butchery like this? Did they tell him to clean the goddamn place up or what? _

A friend heard him and, terrified, turned his head towards him, standing immediately. Crowley's never seen him like this before. Blood on the hands, face and hair. Breaths that are broken, as if an angel had some problems with breathing air into his lungs. Eyes full of tears that flowed down Aziraphale's cheeks. And worst of all, despair. The demon was able to recognize true sorrow and sadness, but he never learned to derive satisfaction from it. He made people's lives miserable in various ways: lied, persuaded them to betray, started feuds, but did not allow himself to kill anyone, nor did he force anyone to do so. That wasn't his style. Like everyone else knocked down into the abyss of Hell, he's used to sin. It became a natural part of his new life. However, looking at such a familiar face, terrified and exhausted, he felt a terrible emptiness inside himself. And the anger that suddenly flooded his whole body. He always guarded Aziraphale and protected him from evil, which he knew so well. The angel was naive, gullible, but that's his innate qualities. He was pure, uncontaminated with sin, like Crowley himself in the old days. Seeing him in such a state, the demon felt that he would kill someone responsible for this slaughter with plesaure, which must have been witnessed by his friend. Aziraphale was certainly not here of his own free will.

-Who sent you here? Tell me.

But the angel didn't say a word. For a moment he looked at Crowley with a strange facial expression, as if he wanted to run away and squeeze to his chest at the same time.

_Do it, please. You can hug me. Don't worry, I'll take care of it. I can tell them that I forced you to do it. I'm so sorry. I couldn't help you, I'd get you out of here if I only knew you were here. _

_Who was that? Tell me. Whoever did this I will kill them for it, I promise. Gabriel? Michael? I'll rip out all their feathers before I burn them in hellfire! _

They stood opposite each other, looking into each other's eyes. Crowley stretched out his hand towards the angel shyly. He wanted to touch him, wipe the salty tears off his cheeks. Azirafal's face was distorted in the grimace of pain. The friend disappeared in an instant, so suddenly and unexpectedly that Crowley wondered for the rest of the day whether he was only a ghost in his imagination. He knew he wasn't allowed to follow Aziraphale. Not today, not tomorrow. He'll never ask for this meeting. Deep down, however, he thought:

_I know I shouldn't have seen it, but thank you for letting me see it anyway. _

***

Suddenly, demon awaked. To his ears got a low sound, signaling the end of the voyage. He slowly pulled off the ferry and set off. The rain stopped jamming for a moment. After finding himself in the center of Calais, he wondered for a moment where to go next. Initially he intended to go south and get drunk in one of those charming French vineyards, but under the influence of a sudden whim (or perhaps inner sorrow?) changed his mind. He headed his car to east, towards the Belgian border.

_Today I need something stronger than the usual wine or whiskey. _

Crowley had a purpose. Rotterdam. He liked the specific climate of this city as much as the unbridled, human joy, felt especially in the liberal approach to life of the Dutch people. The total opposite of aristocratic, proud Britain and ubiquitous self-restraint that saturated the whole country.

_However, the British manners leave a lot to be desired. Especially when they're sitting in their own homes. They're far from royals. I just don't understand why they're hiding it. Human behaviours. Strange thing. _

As he moved away from the French city, Crowley noticed that the weather was also changing. The rain wasn't as rainy as it was in England. Bentley crossed the road with his own grace, leaving the next kilometers behind. The new cars did not have the same style as the ones created in the late 1920s and early 1930s. They were still solid, but according to the demon, they lacked the specific beauty that characterized their mechanical ancestors.

The northern part of France, Belgium and finally the Netherlands looked very similar to England. Monotonous landscapes interspersed with forests, single trees, light hills disappeared, smeared behind glass. However, the demon noticed that there is a lot of water in this greenery in the form of lakes or thin blue streams. But he didn't pay much attention to it. He wanted to get to the city as soon as possible and throw himself into the whirlpool of well-known and proven entertainment.

Rotterdam appeared to his eyes after a few hours of driving. A glow of city lights scattered the darkness of night. Crowley is staying at one of the luxury hotels in the heart of the city. When he finally got to the room, he lay down on the bed and immediately fell asleep. He woke up the next day around 3:00 p. m. The demon went straight towards the port, where he just looked at the sea and ships. After the war everything changed slowly, newer and newer buildings were built. In Rotterdam there were cranes everywhere, blending into the city landscape.

_They are truly tireless. They keep destroying and rebuilding. And I'm getting more and more to work because of them. There's always something to fuck up. _

Crowley went back to the Charlois district. It was almost 6:00 p. m. The sun has long been hidden behind the horizon. The demon's attention was attracted by one pub with a lot of young people smoking cigarettes and something else. The laughing and loud company drew attention to a tall, elegantly dressed man as he walked inside. Crowley smiled. He was well aware of the possibilities that his body was offering to him.

_It's just my human form, kids. You wouldn't have been able to look at me back on a day. My power, as well as beauty, would be too terrifying for you, as would all the other archangels. _

When he finally got inside, he ordered a Scotch. He watched the interior of the pub, sensing the atmosphere of complete relaxation, but also of ubiquitous sin. He felt better right away. After a while, someone else's hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned around with curiosity. In front of him stood a dark-haired boy dressed in a dark shirt, which has already seen its better times. His eyes were a little bloodied, but his face was full of suppressed, unhealthy enthusiasm. Apparently a junkie. Crowley looked at him more closely. He immediately recognized what was playing in that man's body. Cocaine.

_That's perfect. Bloody perfect._

-Are you looking for anything here, man? - asked the guy. - You don't look like the kind of guy who walks around the inferior bars.

A barely noticeable, slightly insolent smile bloomed on the demon's face.

-I know what I can find in places like this. Do you have anything to offer?

-Depends on what you want.

-The same thing you want. - repulsed the demon, knowing that he would be understood correctly.

The boy watched him for a moment as if he was considering something in his mind. After a while, he reached for Crowley's half-drank Scotch and drank amber liquid in one movement.

-Come with me. I don't have anything on me, but…I know someone.

If the demon had been in his standard mood, he would have surely reflected on that junkie for his insolence, but he didn't have the strength to do it today. He just wanted to vanish, not think about anything. The light of the lamps dispersed the darkness a little as a young man led Crowley through the streets, a few blocks away from the door of a slightly dilapidated tenement house. The building was built of old red brick, which had long been covered with destruction and dirt. They walked into a cage that seemed to remember the war times. They both climbed the stairs. On the second floor the guy turned right and knocked hard on the old, destroyed brown door.

Silence.

A moment later, they heard the characteristic noise of a sliding chain and the door finally opened. A man, who stood in front of them looked as if he had just got out of bed. He taxed them with his eyes from head to toe.

-Hey, man, listen, this guy wants to. . .

-Get the fuck out of here.

The door slammed in front of their faces. The boy looked shyly at Crowley, who was still looking straight ahead.

-Excuse me. . . I. . . Wait a minute, okay? - he said, nervously pulling the keys out of his pocket.

After a while, they both found themselves in a long, dark and narrow corridor. A young man, who apparently did not want company, suddenly left the room, grabbed the other man by the half of his shirt and pushed him hard towards the wall.

-What did I tell you, you moron?! God damn it! You weren't supposed to bring any fucking new people here! You know what's gonna happen if somebody gets a couple of lips.

-Da. . .

-Shut the fuck up! Get the fuck out of here with this guy!

-Leave us alone - Crowley winked at his current companion. The boy looked at him as if he wanted to say something, but eventually he went out of the house obediently, closing the door behind him, without even wondering why he did it. The other man was still staring at him, putting his hands on his chest.

-Didn't you hear what I said? Get out of here.

The demon only resisted nonchalantly against the wall.

-I think I'm gonna stay.

-What do you want? I've never seen you in Rotterdam.

-That's very good, don't you think? And you'll never see me again. Our mutual friend told me that I could get something from you.

-He messed up. He's a junkie if you haven't noticed, Einstein.

-I think he didn't lie to me.

-Listen, man. I don't want any trouble. I don't have anything here, okay? Just get out of here.

-I'm talking about pure cocaine.

The boy's eyes widened slightly, but almost immediately he took back a kindly indifferent expression on his face.

-I don't have anything like that.

Crowley moved slightly to this man and whispered:

-I think you're lying now. Believe me, I'm a master of lies.

-Maybe. - said tha boy who wasn't discouraged. - But you don't look like a junkie. More like a desperate man.

-I didn't come here to hear your expert opinion on me. Do you have the drugs, or should I keep looking in other place?

The young man's resistance began to melt slowly.

-You got the money?

In response, Crowley showed him a folded bunch of bills and looked at him impatiently. The man sighed and summoned the demon with a gesture:

-Come with me.

Crowley went into the apartment. The room was tiny. The old wallpaper, which was remembered the 1950s, came off the walls. There was a big mirror hanging next to the uncovered bed. A few beer and vodka bottles were on the floor. The whole room was bathed only in pale red small night lamp. The boy sat down at the table and lit another lamp that produced a contrasting, cold, slightly sterile light. He took out a leather bag from the wardrobe, in which he was burying it for a while. He finally put a pack of white substance in front of Crowley.

-I've never seen you here before. I know this town better than this blasted falt I have to live in. Look, I don't want to play psychologist, I'm far from being a doctor. I don't care who you are and why you do it. You can get fucked up at the nearest gutter, I don't care. I'm a junkie myself. I don't know much about the world, but I can see the despair. And you've got a lot of despair in yourself, damn it. You stink of sadness, man. Why did you come here?

The demon was silent for a while. He felt the sincerity in this man. His posture and his body language were betraying him. The human sixth sense was not as much of a fuss as the majority of society thought it was.

-I want to forget. - he just answered.

-Cocoa will let you forget for a moment. Twenty, thirty minutes, that’s all. Look man, you better go somewhere far away. I was in Hong Kong once, a long time ago. You can wipe out literally anything there. It's a different reality, different people. You come back, maybe you'll look at the world a little differently. Or don't come back if it's so bad. Believe me,

_I'd never want to be here, but it's too late for that. _

-Remind me, what's your name?

Young man still looked at him with sincere, sadness and a slight reserve, but also with fascination at the same time (which was a personal deed of the demon).

-I don't remember I’ve told you my name.

-Yes, you haven't. - Crowley stood up, still keeping his eyes on him.

The tension between the two slowly grew. The demon dosed them extremely quickly this time.

-You can call me Ian, if you want.

Crowley looked at him with attention. That wasn't his real name, but he wasn't gonna push him. The boy had short black hair, dark eyes, full lips, slender body, slightly damaged by cocaine, covered with a mustard sweater and dark pants. He was handsome, in his own characteristic way.

-Ian, give me two grams. - said the demon, taking the money out of his pocket and putting it on the table.

-As you want, man. - sighed the boy, poured the powdered substance into the scales, and then added it less convincingly:

-But you're getting the hell out of here, right now.

The demon laughed in his mind:

_Don't worry, tomorrow you won't even remember I was here. _

Crowley didn't have to do that. Drugs did not affect his body in the same way as they did ordinary people, unless he consciously allowed himself to do so. Today, he exceptionally wanted to fly away into the twisted abyss of oblivion. He didn't want to remember anything, especially the expression on the face of a blue-eyed angel giving him a thermos at Bentley, whose body and soul were inaccessible to him. He knew that the bliss he wanted would only last for a moment. Nothing insignificant piece of time throughout this infinity. It had to be enough, as always.

Ian looked at him with an eloquent facial expression as he sucked in white powder right in front of his eyes. Crowley moaned quietly and leaned his head back. He immediately felt the drug penetrate his bloodstream and let it takes over his nerves. Cocaine has sharpened his senses, the bad mood has disappeared, obscured by a huge amount of dopamine flowing through neurons in one microsecond. In his mind, white flashes were creating a wild vortex, changing its colour constantly. The demon sighed with relief.

Something soft suddenly appeared on his lips. Warm lips. Saliva. He didn't resist, on the contrary, he made it happen. He knew perfectly well what his appearance was like for a man who had just told him something about his own desperation. He took advantage of it. At last it was a time when sex was as easily accessible as ever. Praise be to the Lord for the sixties! The warm hands unbuttoned his jacket and went straight under his gol. Fingertips on the naked body, creating strange patterns everywhere. The sensations were increased, multiplied. It overpowered him, slowed his movements a little. Crowley felt like he was wrapped in a hot cocoon of touch and dullness. The world seemed unreal, but his eyes still saw everything too sharply. He felt his body reacted to touch, being influenced by the hormones still released: oxytocin and dopamine. He had a thought in his head that he was being overhelmed, but he didn't mind. He kissed the man pasionately, slightly biting the lower lip, examining the inside of boy’s mouth with his tongue.

Fever, fire, heat. The flames pierced his body. He subconsciously knew that these were not his true feelings, but only the reactions multiplied by the heavy veil of drugs and hormones that enveloped his entire body. Ian's mouth was wandering around his cheek, moving down his neck, part of which was still wrapped in black material of his golf. He felt a damp tongue below his right ear. A muffled sigh broke out of his mouth as the man's hand touched the inside of his thighs and slowly moved upwards.

The clothes suddenly became extremely uncomfortable. Crowley pulled his jacket off in one move, letting Ian slide the golf. Then he unzipped his boyfriend's sweater and ripped his shirt off. A man's mouth was wandering around his chest, his hands were on his nipples. Cocaine enhanced the sensations. The body reacted to the touch, wanting even more closeness.

The demon pushed the man onto the bed, crushing him with his weight, wandering his tongue around his neck, knowing with his hands all the hollows of his body. He easily pulled off his pants and clenched his hand on man’s cock. Ian's body reacted to this touch with a slight shock, and a choked sob emerged from the man's mouth. Corwley didn't remember much of what happened next, because cocaine completely mixed reality and his imagination. At some point, he only realized that he was completely naked and that someone's hand was moving steadily up and down on his cock. His breath became heavier and heavier as the demon's mouth covered the lips of the other man. Finally, he heard his own screaming (or maybe it was Ian's scream?), and then he felt a warm, sticky mess on his fingers and stomach. Moments later, he completely lost consciousness of what was happening to him. His body writhing in the spasms of his piercing feelings, which had nothing to do with what he felt deeply within himself. But he didn't think about it. He allowed himself to be completely overtaken by this physical, very human reaction. He felt the trembling of all his muscles when the world around him was flooded with the whiteness he knew so well.

Afterwards, Crowley lay on the bed for a while, feeling Ian's gaze on himself. The air irritated his skin a little on a hot, naked body. Cocaine slowly evaporated from the veins, but he still felt the pleasant, slightly vibrating thread of tension and the echoes of the recent orgasm that shook his muscles. The demon reached for his jacket, thrown right next to the bed, and pulled out a lighter and cigarettes. Inhaling nicotine smoke, he gave one to Ian. The man didn't say a word, he just watched him with some tension. His face was obscured by smoke, and the red glow gave it an unusual expression. In front of the demon's eyes again appeared the image of Aziraphale, his shy smile and undefined feelings, which the demon noticed in his eyes when he was giving him a thermos.

_Should I say: thank you? _

_Better not. _

_Goddamn it. Fuck all the feelings. Why are you torturing me, Mother? Are you a sadist? Lucifer doesn't hiding it at least, damn it. _

Crowley tightened his eyelids and snapped his fingers. Ian fell asleep immediately. The boy will wake up tomorrow morning without remembering anything about tonight. The demon stood up, put on his pants and suddenly saw his reflection in the mirror next to the bed. He was looking at himself for a moment, still overwhelmed by fasting cocaine dullness. A milky white, lean body, distinctive ribs covered with pale skin, collarbones and red stripes on his shoulders and back, revealing how he spent his last minutes. Crowley immediately put his hand on his chest. The scratches are gone. Like nothing ever happened. He quickly put on a golf and a black jacket, which in the low light of the lamp resembled a dark grenade. Suddenly, on the table next to the cocaine package, he saw a piece of paper, which turned out to be a concert ticket.

_Pink Floyd. Oude-Ahoy Hallen. November 13, 1967. 9:00 p. m._

He looked at the watch. Fifteen minutes to eight. He ran through the map of the city in his mind. I've never heard of them.

_Actually, why not? Twenty minutes on foot. I'm gonna take a walk._

The demon poured a little bit of white powder into a transparent sachet. He hid it with the ticket in the inner pocket of his jacket. He left the apartment without looking back and moved on. It was raining outside. Drops were hitting the ground, people were hiding under umbrellas. The nightlife was just beginning. Nearby bars and pubs were filled with new clients who wanted to drown their sorrows in glasses, looking for trouble or simply wanting to drink. Crowley walked slowly down the street, heading for Ahoy. He still had a lot of time, so he decided to use it, drinking two glasses of Scotch in one of the bars. He was still a little demented by cocaine and sex, but that was about to pass. He looked with curiosity at the people gathered around him. Heavy, stuffy atmosphere, saturated with sweat and cigarette smoke, was swirled up by wild music, played at the request of customers to the highest tones. The demon loved the sixties. It's so easy to sin now, the temptation has never been so easy for him before. In addition, the sexual revolution, markets saturated with all kinds of drugs, a paradise for the all demons of Hell. Crowley had more opportunities in those days to give vent to his liberated nature. His memories did not abandon him, but making life difficult for himself and others helped him to survive in some way.

_Okay, that’s enough, I'm gonna be late for the concert. _

He came to Ahoy fifteen minutes ealier. He stood in a corner, like a condemned student, but it made no difference to him whether he would stand in front of the stage or at the very end of the hall. Topaz eyes, covered with sunglasses, recorded everything with extraordinary accuracy. But it wasn't the image that Crowley cared about at the moment.

_I didn't come here to look, I came here to listen._

_Boys, get me fucking out of here to the stars_.

He had no idea that his unwitting words would turn out to be prophetic. A dozen or so minutes after nine o'clock the band started their performance. Pink Floyd turned out to be a group of four young Britsh men. Crowley didn't remember their names exactly at first, except for two members: Syd and Roger. The main lights went out, the instruments went in motion. The 1960s primarily defined people's innovative approach to almost all areas of life. The demon realized this as a reference point with six thousand years of earthly experience. The same thing happened to the music. The young artists who gave vent to their emotions on stage were a perfect example of this. Their songs were characterized by psychedelic insertions, crazy riffs, pure energy, drawn directly from improvised sounds and wild sounds. Crowley pulled out a cocaine sachet and rubbed a little bit of it into his gums. The familiar feeling of departure has returned. In combination with music, he felt as if he could again travel through the immeasurable spaces of the universe, while still being on Earth. Crazy sounds turned up the unbridled admiration and stunning of the demon. He began to move to the rhythm of music, allowing himself to fly for the second time that evening into the multicoloured world of his own imagination, mixed with emotions, feelings and images of his earlier life.

_That's brilliant. Pure psychedelic. It's like I'm surfing through stardust, or crossing space again with the speed of light. It's like I'm free again. Everything is blurred, intangible. Just like in home. _

In his head everything was spinning, turning into one crazy roar of music and chaotic views, resembling blurred spots or one of those impressionistic paintings of nineteenth-century artists. The world was losing its shape, everything was one. Crowley's memory has brought Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ before his eyes.

_Everything always happens under the stars. Per aspera ad astra. _

_At first, there was no Word at all. _

_In the beginning there was Light. _

_She was the Light. _

_Then there was the energy that spread everywhere. _

_And in the end, once everything goes to hell, there's gonna be light at the end._

***

Crowley woke up the next day, feeling like he was flying straight towards Andromeda, running through her stellar spirals, then accelerating and hitting Earth with the speed of light. For a moment he had no idea where he was, again feeling the paralyzing loneliness and sadness. The effect of the cocaine convention. The demon quickly got rid of the last traces of drugs from his veins and regained his sharpness of thinking. He looked at the watch. Nine o'clock. He was lying in his hotel bed. He realized that at some point after the concert he snapped his fingers and found himself here. Then he just fell asleep without even taking off his clothes. He wasn't supposed to check out of the hotel until 12 o'clock, so he took steps to the bathroom and filled the bathtub to the brim. He slipped inside. The water was hot, just the way Crowley liked it best. After all, he didn't even add a drop of cold. Extended over the entire length of the bathtub, he leaned his head against one of its ends, while allowing his feet to hang inertly on top of the bath. He put a hot towel in front of his eyes. He breathed deeply.

_For all the circles of Hell! Fuckin' hell, man. I feel so fucking sorry for people, because they don't have control over the timing of the stimulants in their bodies. This dementia is brilliant, but after a while, it becomes troublesome. And that emotional hole. Exaggerated as the previous madness. _

Crowley slipped the towel off his face and dipped his head in a hot liquid. He opened his eyes, observing the distorted space above him. Water created fancy patterns, blurred reality like drugs during yesterday's concert. After leaving the hotel, he was still thinking about a show at the Oude-Ahoy Hallen, as well as everything that had happened right before it. Demon promised himself that when he returned home he would buy this band's album.

_Pink Floyd. I have to remember that name. I don't know if it's drugs, but this concert, it was good. Really, really, really good. Finally, something interesting begins to happen in music. How many times can you play Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries all the time? I know Mozart by heart, too. Boring. I needed something like that after the devilish confusion with Aziraphale. It will be worthwhile to watch their work more closely in the future. _

The demon went back to thinking about talking to Ian. He didn't regret their time together. Besides, it wasn't his first time. After all, sex was part of his work among these lost human beings. He knew that this way of expressing their feelings was extremely important for people. For him, in most cases, it was only a means to an end. In general, demons are deprived of the gift of understanding and feeling of love. All the more, they do not connect it with the physical aspects of human feelings. Their domain is desire, so often confused with love. Although he loved his angel so desperately, Crowley felt as confused about it as any average human being. In his thoughts, he compared his forbidden feeling to the state of mind of a scouted student who, after a fierce party, has to break the exam of applied mathematics, knowing that he will definitely fuck it all up.

_ Hong Kong. Ian, I hope you didn't make a mistake. I wonder what Asia looks like now. To be honest, I haven't set foot on this continent in. . . a hundred years? Maybe he was right. A different culture will make me feel better? Sometimes I can't stand the goddamn London, which I've known since there were only a few miserable huts of the first Anglo-Saxons over the Thames. _

Crowley got into his beloved car and headed straight for the capital, to Heathrow Airport. Six hours later he was already there. By a strange coincidence, it turned out that there was one more ticket left for the plane, which was leaving in exactly two hours. The demon smiled in spirit, passing through passport control, thinking about the twelve-hour journey ahead. Sitting on board, he was recalling the concert in his memory.

_What was the name of the song I liked so much? Damn. . . It was something astronomical in this title. _

The demon was wandering his fingers around his red hair with his eyes stuck in the window, looking at the views surrounding the aeroplane. In front of his eyes stretched the night sky in its full glory. Above the clouds, stars reigned, flickering with a cold glow on the black velvet of the sky. The moon was in the new moon today. Crowley's been mentioning names in his mind:

_Alpha Centauri: more than four light-years. _

_Alpha Canis Minoris: eleven and a half light years from the Sun. _

_Alpha Canis Majoris: eight and six tenths of light-years. _

_61 Cigni (what a funny name, really) - how far is it from here? I forgot again. Fuck. _

_A Light year. 9 460 730 472 580 800 m. People think it's so much. There are longer distances, believe it or not, even here on Earth, you don't have to look so far away. _

_Once upon a time, light was born in me, with her consent. It passed through my consciousness, the stream of the first particles. Nothing can compare to that to this day for me. I remember those births, tearing space apart. I didn't have eyes at the time, but I felt it with all my heart. Incapacitating. This image is still deep inside me. I'd like to show him this, so he can feel what I felt there. Or was he there, too? Long after that, I walked this wonderful infinity from star to star. You can't describe this feeling in human language, it was like. . . _

In one second, he remembered.

_Ah, yes! Yes, of course. That's a good title, really. _

_Interstellar Overdrive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you look into the abyss, the abyss is also looking at you. - this quote is belonging to Frederick Nietzsche.


End file.
